Harry Potter and the Endwar Project
by reptilia28
Summary: In the year 2009, Voldemort has taken over much of the world. Now Harry Potter, the last surviving member of the Golden Trio, must stop him by implementing the powerful and mysterious Endwar Project. DISCONTINUED
1. Project: Endwar

I debated as to whether I should write this, as I already have four in-progress projects on my plate. However, I eventually decided that I wanted to write something…just not them.

With that said, I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 1 – Project: Endwar

**JUNE 24, 2009 – LOCATION, UNKNOWN**

Somewhere outside the observable realms of space, there were a series of interconnected rooms that was formerly the British Department of Mysteries. Within these rooms were many strange and fascinating things, as well as some mundane things such as the barracks where its inhabitants slept. In one of these barracks, a twenty-eight year old Harry James Potter laid in his bed, looking at the makeshift calendar stuck on his wall. The man had gone through several physical changes since he had left Hogwarts. He had hit a final growth spurt, setting him at an average sixty-eight inches in height. His hair, once an untamable mess, had been lengthened to just past his ears and pulled back in a ponytail. The characteristic lightning-bolt scar over his right eye was gone, replaced by a smooth scar he had received when a stray curse slashed his face; he was lucky that it had only caught his flesh and had not blinded him.

As he lay there, he idly noticed that it had been twelve years to the day since his friend, mentor and headmaster Albus Dumbledore had died, and granted him a mission to stop the fearsome Lord Voldemort once and for all.

Twelve years since everything had gone to Hell.

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Soon after Dumbledore's death, Voldemort began taking over the Ministry of Magic piece by piece. Because of the government's already corrupt influence, this was far from a difficult task for him. Through his puppets, Voldemort began to lay his influence on the masses. At first, it was higher prices for goods and housing for Muggleborns and semi-human beings. Then, he made it impossible for them to gain anything but the most menial of employment. He had imposed a "Muggleborn Registration Act," demanding that any and all muggleborn witches and wizards be registered and monitored "for security purposes," they would say. Any who did not register were swiftly arrested and imprisoned. He also imposed heavy restrictions on portkey usage, crippling any attempts to escape.

When the new school year started, Voldemort exercised his influence there as well. Gone were the houses of before, instead replaced with tables based on blood purity. The purebloods would sit at the front, half-bloods and above in the middle, and the muggleborns in the back. The so-called "mudbloods" were only permitted to learn the most basic spells and charms, while the higher-ranked students were taught many advanced spells and curses, many of them undeniably dark. They were also indoctrinated to believe that muggles and muggleborn were inferior, worthy of little more than indentured servants or permanent slaves. A few of Harry's friends, including Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood tried to stir up a resistance within the castle, much as Harry did during their fifth year. However, they were discovered, and executed for treason.

This swiftly silenced any further attempts of resistance.

Voldemort had taken control of the muggle government by casting an Imperius curse on the Prime Minister, making him the twisted wizard's puppet. A few "accidents" later, and Voldemort was well on his way into turning Great Britain into his own personal army. Men were automatically conscripted into the military at age seventeen. Those who tried to resist were quickly made examples of. He had also all but eliminated any travel to or from the British islands, isolating them from the world.

Meanwhile, on the continent, Voldemort's supporters were setting up their own power bases, and the darkness began to spread like a cancer. Within a decade, Voldemort directly or indirectly controlled most of Europe, and had begun to forge an alliance with Communist China. In 2005, Voldemort had led an attack on the United States, eliminating his last real threat. The Americans fought valiantly for over a year, but were unable to stand up to the combined European forces. In a final bid of desperation, they launched several nuclear missiles, annihilating much of Western Europe.

Meanwhile, while the world crumbled apart around them, Harry and his two friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger wandered through the countryside searching for the horcruxes, the mystical artifacts containing pieces of Voldemort's soul and ensuring his immortality. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had failed to inform them of _where_ the horcruxes were, so they wandered aimlessly through the wilderness for over a year, trying not to be caught by Voldemort's spies.

The trio was eventually discovered by one Jonathan Waters, who claimed to be a former Unspeakable. After swearing a magical oath that he meant them no harm, he explained to them that when the Ministry fell, the Unspeakables activated a failsafe that disconnected the Department of Mysteries from this realm of reality, rendering it inaccessible except to its residents, and that they had been searching for Harry and his friends for some time.

Walters led them to a doorway standing in the middle of the woods, and opened it to reveal the familiar black marble halls of the Department of Mysteries. There, Head Unspeakable Nebuchadnezzar Hawthorne explained to the three teenagers that shortly before his death, Dumbledore had approached the Unspeakables to discretely assist them in their task by searching for and destroying Voldemort's horcruxes. Hawthorne further reported that they had located and destroyed one of them: Hufflepuff's cup, which was being held in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts. When Hermione incredulously asked how they managed to obtain it, Hawthorne merely smiled and said, "I'm afraid that's classified, my dear."

While going through a routine physical, Harry's scar became a topic of interest because of the dark energy that emanated from it. It took several dozen tests before it was discovered that his scar was another horcrux, explaining his connection with Voldemort. It would be almost two years before they could safely extract the soul fragment from Harry's body into an inanimate vessel for disposal. For ease in said disposal, they transferred the horcrux into a spun-glass orb, much like those used to store prophecies.

While many of the Unspeakables were researchers, there were several who were also trained in combat, and over the next several years, molded the three frightened, inexperience teenagers into hardened soldiers perfect for the war that they were living in. They were taught spells that toed the line between the light and the dark. They were also taught how to use a knife, as well as the creative application of spells, runes and potions to create several devices, many explosive in nature.

Over the years, they captured and interrogated dozens, perhaps hundreds of Death Eaters, pumping them for every scrap of information they had. After they had ascertained all that they could from them, they granted them the mercy of a swift death and disposed of them. One such Death Eater was Severus Snape.

After thoroughly checking him for any portkeys or tracking devices, the three began to interrogate him. It had turned out that Snape had not killed Dumbledore out of malice, but because of a prior agreement that, to protect Draco Malfoy as well as himself, Snape would kill him. However, it had been in vain, for the junior Malfoy had become an almost exact copy of his father. After any strategic information had been culled, Harry began to press Snape for personal questions. In his questioning, Harry learned that Snape had an infatuation for his mother, a fact that thoroughly disgusted him, and that Snape had told Voldemort of the prophecy on the promise that only Harry and his father would be killed, leaving his mother for himself. When asked if Snape would be willing to assist them in bringing down Voldemort, he said:

"No. Not only has the Dark Lord exerted too much control to be defeated, I will never work with the bastard Potter again. I hope that he burns in Hell." With a grim look on his face, Harry drew his wand and placed the tip between Snape's eyes.

"You first," he spat before firing a drilling charm into Snape's forehead, boring a neat hole into both sides of his skull.

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In the aftermath of the holocaust that the Americans brought down on Europe, the trio had tried to infiltrate one of Voldemort's bases for information. Unfortunately, they had underestimated the security within the building, and were forced to retreat empty-handed. It was here that Hermione Granger died; struck by a stray killing curse. While both men were stricken with grief, they quickly stamped those feelings down and went back to work, determined to not let her death be in vain.

Two months later, Harry and Ron were leading an attack on a known troll clan to eliminate them. They had snuck into the valley where the trolls were resting and began placing bombs at strategic locations to cause as much damage as possible, setting the timers to detonate at five minutes. But, as they began to make their escape, a pack of werewolves appeared; apparently, it was some kind of sport for werewolves to hunt larger and stronger creatures than themselves. The lycanthropes spotted the team of Unspeakables and began to fire on their position; this in turn awakened the trolls and sent them on an indiscriminate rampage. In the ensuing battle, the other two Unspeakables accompanying them were killed, one struck by a killing curse and the other crushed underneath a troll's club, and Harry lost his escape portkey.

"How long has it been?!" Harry yelled as he and Ron ducked behind a boulder to shield them from the curses.

"Two minutes, I think!" Ron replied as he fired hexes at the general direction of the enemies.

"Shit!" Harry swore. "We can't trust the timers now, one of us is going to have to stay behind and detonate them manually." Both men were silent as they realized the unspoken words: One of them would have to die.

"I'll do it," Ron volunteered. When Harry opened his mouth to argue, the redhead cut him off. "You are our last hope of ever ending their war, Harry!" he said as he fired off several more spells. "I'm just a grunt; I'm expendable!" Harry's jaw clenched in frustration but eventually nodded. Ron yanked his portkey off from around his neck and handed it to Harry. "I'll say 'hi' to Hermione for you," he added.

"Thanks," Harry said. "The closest bomb is at the cave. You make a dash for it, and I'll cover you until you get there." When Ron nodded in agreement, Harry continued, "On three: One, two, three!" When Ron dashed from his cover towards the cave mouth, Harry arched his wand around his cover and began firing random jinxes and hexes. They would not do any permanent damage to anyone that they hit, but they did little to tax Harry's magical reserves, and would provide ample distraction for Ron to run to the cave mouth. Once Ron's feet crossed the cave's threshold, Harry activated his portkey and disappeared.

Ron scrambled to the bomb and waved his wand over it, bringing up the runes controlling it in a holographic display. With several swishes of his wand, the runes that connected the timer to the detonation sequence were erased; several more runes were added to synchronize the detonations of the other bombs. As Ron put the final touches on the activation rune, he heard a deep, nasal growling coming from the cave entrance. He turned around to see a troll stomping towards him, club held high. With a heavy sigh, Ron completed the rune and activated it, automatically detonating the explosive. A bright flash of light filled Ron's vision, and then…

Nothing.

Harry watched grimly as the settlement was destroyed in a flash of light and sound. With a weary sigh, Harry opened the door that would lead to the Department of Mysteries and stepped inside. Immediately, he was confronted by one of the senior Unspeakables.

"Potter, what happened? Where's the rest of your team?" Harry looked up at the man before him, a tired look in his eyes.

"Situation went FUBAR," Harry said simply, stepping around the other man, "they didn't make it."

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Harry was snapped out of his reverie by a sharp knocking from the door. He turned his head to see the Hawthorne standing in the doorway.

"Potter, I need to talk to you," he said gruffly. Harry silently stood up and walked towards Hawthorne, who beckoned Harry to follow him. "Potter, have you ever wondered what you would do if you could go back and change it all?" the elderly wizard asked.

"Sometimes," Harry said simply as they stepped into the main atrium of the Department of Mysteries, the doors quickly revolving around them. "Why do you ask?"

"Because what I'm about to show you may help us end this war once and for all," Hawthorne said, seemingly completely unrelated to the previous conversation. He walked over to a door that Harry recognized from the first time he visited the Department of Mysteries: a sealed with no lock or knob.

Hawthorne waved his wand over the door in a graceful, intricate pattern, softly muttering words that Harry could not understand, until the door gave a soft click and slid open. Hawthorne opened the door and beckoned Harry in.

"Mister Potter, allow me you introduce you to the Department of Mysteries most treasured secret: The Endwar Project."

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Thus ends the first chapter of _Harry Potter and the Endwar Project._ What is the Endwar Project, exactly? Find out, next chapter!

Oh, and don't forget to leave a review on your way out.


	2. Chaos Theory

I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 2 – Chaos Theory

Harry took in the contents of the room in surprise. In the exact center of the room were seven concentric circles etched into the stone, each one covered with hundreds of runes. In the center of the circles was a patch of stone six feet in diameter studded with gems and even more runes, the only bare patches being just large enough for his feet to fit into. On opposite ends of the room, technicians and scientists labored over stone pedestals.

"Sir, what is this?" Harry asked in confusion. Hawthorne sported a proud grin on his face as he explained.

"This is the Endwar Project," the elderly Unspeakable said. "It was commissioned for construction two years into the first war with Voldemort, as a tool of last resort. Even though he was defeated before it could be completed, we continued work on it, just in case. And it's a good thing we did, considering our current situation."

"Okay, but what does it do?" Harry asked, looking at the massive device uncertainly.

"This device basically acts like a giant time turner," Hawthorne explained. "The premise is that we would send someone back in time to change things." Harry furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Sir, I've messed around with time turners before," he pointed out. "Wouldn't the predestination theory negate any attempts to change the past?"

"Ahh, yes, time turners do have that particular wrinkle," Hawthorne agreed, "but the thing about time turners is that their maximum capacity is twenty-four hours behind. However, the Endwar machine is designed to send someone years into the past, and at that distance, the theory is that predestination would no longer apply. Instead, we believe that one of two things would occur: One, that the first change you would make would split that time stream from ours, thereby creating an alternate universe."

"And the second?" Harry prompted.

"And the second is that the first change you make overrides this time stream and everything about the future that we have come to inherit will be rendered invalid," Hawthorne continued. "Essentially, everything that's happened in the past twenty or thirty years will have never happened." Harry digested the information presented to him. A device capable of traveling years back in time; the opportunity to change things, to stop this war before it even started.

"What's the catch?" Harry asked. Nothing this good came without a catch. Hawthorne chuckled wryly and shook his head.

"The catch?" he repeated. "There are several catches, actually. The first is that this is a one-way trip: Once you step in, there's no going back." Harry shrugged dismissively.

"Not like I have anything to go back to anyway," he said dully.

"The second is that while each action you make has a chance of changing things for the better, there's an equal chance that it will change things for the worse," Hawthorne continued warning Harry. "The third is that no one except the Unspeakables can know that you're a time traveler, and even then, some can't be trusted." Harry hummed in agreement, thinking about Voldemort's spies in the Department of Mysteries. He thought about his decision for a moment before he turned to his superior.

"Things can't get much worse than they already are," Harry said, "I'll do it."

"Excellent," Hawthorne said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small object. He tapped it with his wand, causing it to expand into a standard-sized aluminum briefcase. "Here," he said, handing the container to Harry, "this has some essentials for your trip. A couple changes of clothes, a few gadgets that could help you and about a million pounds in Muggle and magical currency to get you started." Harry cocked his eyebrow at the one million pounds comment, but said nothing as he took the briefcase. Hawthorne led Harry to his proper position and gave the younger man a final salute. "Good luck, Potter," he said before stepping out of the circles.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, clutching the handle of the briefcase tightly. Hawthorne nodded his head, and the technicians began to toil at their respective work stations. With the dull groan of stone scraping against stone, the rings began to rotate on the floor. As the runes covering the rings and the gems surrounding Harry's feet began to glow a dull white, the smallest ring swung upwards, passing a few inches above his head. Seconds later, the second ring swung up in a different direction, revolving around Harry. As each ring began to revolve, the others would gain speed, until each one was spinning around him in a wild vortex of rock. The runes and gems glowed brighter until it threatened to blind everyone in the room, the rapid swings of the rings generating a deep, thundering hum that reverberated throughout the room.

In the center of the chaos, Harry had covered his eyes with one hand while using the briefcase in his other as a shield, the echoing hum rattling his bones. Suddenly, he felt his body growing cold. It began in the tips of his fingers and toes, and began creeping up his extremities. As the chill slithered into his torso, his breaths began to quicken, nearly on the verge of hyperventilation. The icy feeling crept all the way to the top of his head then, as suddenly as it began, it disappeared, along with the blinding light and deafening noise. Harry was only given a moment to wonder if it had worked or not before his knees buckled and he collapsed, unconscious.

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**JUNE 24, 1983 – DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, LONDON, ENGLAND**

"No, no, no!" one of the Unspeakables exclaimed to the rune carver knelt before him, nearly pulling his hair out in anxiety. "You're carving it four-point-seven-six-three millimeters away!" The architect gave the Unspeakable a look that lacked understanding, causing him to sigh in exasperation. "The runes need to be exactly four-point-six-two-five millimeters away, or else the mathematics involved will be completely messed up." The architect merely shook his head and bent down to erase the rune drawing he had made as a guide when an ominous hum behind him stayed his hand. He slowly turned around to see a small bead of light appear out of nowhere, a bead that was rapidly growing in size and brightness.

"Everyone, evacuate the room now!" another Unspeakable said, and everyone rushed out of the room, fleeing from the mysterious orb of light. As soon as the last person exited and the door closed itself with a slam, the orb of light formed itself into a vaguely human shape and faded away, revealing Harry Potter hiding behind his briefcase before almost immediately passing out.

The Unspeakable overseeing the Endwar Project ran to Hawthorne's office and knocked urgently on the door.

"Come in," the Head Unspeakable beckoned, and the second man burst in, panting for breath.

"Sir," the Unspeakable gasped, clutching his chest, "there's been a disturbance in the…you-know-where." This caught Hawthorne's attention, who immediately stood up from behind his desk and strode urgently towards the Endwar room, where two security Unspeakables stood guard. Hawthorne performed the complicated process to unlock the door and flung it open, wand at the ready. Looking down at the limp form on the ground, he quickly fired a disarming, stunning and an incarceration charm in rapid succession.

"Take him to the infirmary," Hawthorne ordered his subordinates. "Once we confirm his state, take everything on his person into the examination room." The Unspeakables nodded in understanding before one pointed his wand at Harry's bound form and levitated it away, the other two training their wand on him, his wand and briefcase in their other hands. As they passed by, Hawthorne noticed in confusion that Harry was wearing Unspeakable robes. Shaking his head, he closed the door to the Endwar room, automatically sealing itself.

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"What's the prognosis?" Hawthorne asked, looking down at the still-unconscious Harry, who had been stripped and placed in a prisoner's robe, shackled to a hospital bed.

"Surprisingly well," Jennifer Hexlie, the head medical officer of the Department of Mysteries infirmary said, looking down at the notes on her clipboard. "Our guest here has intense physical and magical exhaustion, but nothing a couple potions and some rest can't cure. However, he has evidence of being through practically every trauma imaginable; I'm going to have to conduct more tests to be sure."

"We can piece together the man's medical history later," Hawthorne said, looming over Harry. "This man broke into a restricted area of the Department of Mysteries, wearing the robes of an Unspeakable, and we have no idea who the hell this man is." When Harry made no signs of movements, Hawthorne stepped back and sighed. "Alert me when he wakes up," he said before leaving the infirmary towards the evidence room.

When he entered, all of Harry's clothes and effects had been laid out on a table. The Unspeakable responsible for analyzing them was poring over his notes when Hawthorne appeared.

"Ah sir, I was about to call you," the younger Unspeakable said as he stepped aside for his superior.

"What do you have?" Hawthorne asked. The Unspeakable cleared his throat and turned towards the displayed items.

"Well, as far as we can tell, these robes are genuine Department-issued. The design, the materials, the charms, even the identification number sewn into the right sleeve is there," he said, showing Hawthorne the right sleeve, which had been cut open to reveal a small serial number that was sewn into the fabric. "The problem is, is that I checked our records: We haven't issued this number, and are not due to for another twenty years or so." At this news, Hawthorne's brow furrowed in thought. "Where'd you say you found this bloke, again?" the Unspeakable asked.

"That doesn't matter," Hawthorne dismissed quickly, waving his subordinate off. "What else did you find?" he asked.

"Umm, well his wand seems to be an Ollivander work: Holly wood with phoenix feather core, crafted around seventy years ago, but only in use for about twenty," the Unspeakable said, pointing to Harry's wand. "His glasses are also fairly unremarkable: Standard anti-scratch and anti-fog charms on all magical eyeglasses. However, there is evidence of several structural transfigurations recently. However, this briefcase is interesting." The Unspeakable pointed to the metal briefcase, which remained closed. "We dug into the enchantments, and saw that it's been fingerprint-sealed; only two people can open it. I also saw a safety protocol that showed that if anyone tried to break open, it would destroy all the contents." Before the Unspeakable could elaborate further, Hawthorne's communication mirror buzzed in alert. He activated to reveal the face of HMO Hexlie.

"Sir, you told me to call you when the prisoner awoke," Hexlie said.

"I resent being referred to like a common criminal!" Harry yelled testily in the background. Hexlie sighed and shook her head in exasperation.

"Right, I'm on my way," Hawthorne said.

"And bring my glasses with you!" Harry yelled before Hawthorne terminated the connection and turned to the Unspeakable analyst.

"Put all this in containment," Hawthorne ordered. "No one is to have access to this except myself." The Unspeakable blinked in confusion before nodding his head uncertainly and began packing Harry's things. As Hawthorne turned to leave, he paused and took Harry's glasses before leaving, figuring that he would be more cooperative if he had them.

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When Hawthorne arrived at the infirmary, he saw Hexlie standing by Harry's bed while said wizard sat shackled to the bed, tapping his fingers on the handlebar impatiently while wearing an impatient scowl on his face.

"Jennifer, could you give us a moment alone, please?" Hawthorne asked. Hexlie nodded and left the two men, bringing the privacy curtain around them. Hawthorne cast a series of privacy charms and turned on Harry. "Okay, who are you, and how did you end up here?" he asked sharply. For several seconds, Harry did not answer; he eventually turned his head towards Hawthorne, squinting.

"Before I answer, will you do something for me?" he asked.

"Maybe," Hawthorne replied, crossing his arms.

"Give me back my glasses," Harry said. "I'll answer all of your answers truthfully, but I want to see the face of my interrogator first." Hawthorne considered the request; he eventually took out Harry's glasses and slid them onto his face. "Ah, that's much better," Harry sighed.

"Back to my original questions, who are you and how did you get here?" Hawthorne repeated himself.

"Who am I, and how did I get here?" Harry echoed. "Ah, that's a tricky one to answer," he continued, tapping his hands on the side rails of his bed. He considered his answer while Hawthorne rapped his fingers on his arm impatiently. "I am Harry James Potter," he finally said, "and I come from the year 2009 because of the Endwar Project."

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And here's the second chapter of Harry Potter and the Endwar Project. Hope you enjoyed it.

Don't forget to review!


	3. Likes Repel

I own Harry Potter. You see, I used the Endwar Project to go back in time with a lifetime's supply of polyjuice potion and replaced J. K. Rowling with myself. Yeah, I figured you wouldn't fall for that. Never mind.

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Chapter 3 – Likes Repel

While Hawthorne had heavily suspected that Harry was from the future, hearing him say it out loud was still a surprise. He knew that Harry's claim was most likely true – the technicians working on the Endwar Project had all signed contracts stating that they would only use it for its intended purpose – he still needed some convincing.

"Will you be willing to repeat that under veritaserum?" Hawthorne asked, pulling a vial of said potion from his pocket.

"You can give it to me," Harry said, shrugging, "no guarantees I'll give you the answers you're looking for." Harry opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out while Hawthorne applied three drops of veritaserum onto the organ. Harry swallowed and his muscles relaxed as the potion took effect.

"What is your name?" Hawthorne asked, capping the potion vial and putting it back in his pocket.

"I've gone by many names in my lifetime," Harry replied in a monotone.

"What is the name on your birth certificate?" Hawthorne asked.

"I don't know; I've never seen my birth certificate," Harry said. Hawthorne began to grin at Harry's answers.

"Are you Harry James Potter, an agent of the Unspeakables?" he asked. Harry did not reply immediately.

"Yes," he finally said.

"Did you use the Endwar Project at any time between the twentieth and twenty-seventh of June Two-Thousand Nine in order to prevent a catastrophic war with Voldemort or some other entity?" Hawthorne asked.

"Yes."

"What is in the briefcase that you brought with you?" Hawthorne asked, his grin threatening to split his face.

"I don't know," Harry answered. "The person that gave it to me said that it had roughly one million pounds in cash and galleons, as well as some other devices and clothes to help me in my new life here."

"How do you intend to carry out your mission?" Hawthorne asked, regaining control over his facial muscles.

"I intend to prevent the Second War with Voldemort by eliminating his assets, both in money and manpower," Harry replied.

"How do you intend to…eliminate Voldemort's manpower?" Hawthorne asked.

"Depending on the threat that they pose to my plans, I have a variety of plans on how to dispose of them."

"Do you know of any Death Eaters that are currently employed by the Department of Mysteries?"

"As far as I'm aware, only Augustus Rookwood." Hawthorne saw that Harry's body was beginning to tense again, and looked down at his watch.

"Alright, you have enough for one last question. Anything else you'd like to say?" Hawthorne asked.

"Yeah, your security sucks," Harry said bluntly. "Six fourth- and fifth-years were able to break in with little difficulty." Hawthorne frowned at this news; he would have to speak to the security personnel about that. By then, Harry had fully recovered from the effects of the veritaserum and turned to Hawthorne. "So, do you believe me now?"

"Yes, I do," Hawthorne said. "I'll have Jennifer get some clothes for you and release you. After that, I want to see you in my office."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Nodding in satisfaction, Hawthorne canceled the privacy charms and opened the curtains before disappearing. A few minutes later, Hexlie appeared with a pile of clothes in her arms. She set the clothes on the bed and with a wave of her wand, the manacles snapped open. "Thanks," Harry said as he rubbed his wrists.

"No problem," Hexlie said, smiling pleasantly as she closed the privacy curtain around Harry again. Harry stripped out of his hospital robes and put on the provided clothes. Once he was decent again, he opened the curtains and walked to Hawthorne's office and knocked on the closed door.

"Come in," Hawthorne said. When he entered, closing the door behind him, he saw Hawthorne sitting at his desk with the metal briefcase that Harry took with him laying on top of it. "Ah, Potter, please sit," Hawthorne said, Harry taking the offered seat. "Now, I was wondering if you could help me here," he continued, laying his hands on the briefcase. "This case is programmed to only open for two people. I'm assuming that one of them is you, but we don't know who the second person is. I was wondering if you could open it up for me."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and pressed his thumbs against the latches, causing them to unlock. He opened the lid and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

The interior was divided into four compartments: The left contained several shrunken equipment carrying cases. The second contained several blocks of pound bills stacked neatly on top of each other. The third compartment contained the golden currency of the wizards. The fourth contained several neatly folded articles of clothing. On top of all of this was a single file folder with the words "**FOR NEBUCHADNEZZAR HAWTHORNE**" stamped across it in bold red letters. Harry wordlessly took the folder and handed it to Hawthorne, who flipped it open. It turned out to be the profile information concerning Harry upon his entry into the Unspeakables. After he skimmed through Harry's information, he jotted something down onto a piece of parchment. With a wave of his wand, the parchment folded into a paper airplane and flew off through a small window above his office door.

"Well, Potter, your record is rather…interesting to say the least," Hawthorne said, linking his fingers together. "And I have affirmed your honesty, so I guess I have no choice but to let you go to fulfill your mission." Harry nodded and closed the briefcase.

"Thank you, sir," he said, beginning to sit up. "I shall begin immediately."

"I'm not done yet, so sit back down," Hawthorne said, and Harry settled back into his seat. "You may be an accomplished Unspeakable, but I haven't seen you in action myself yet. And while I don't know your exact plans regarding your mission, I'm fairly certain that whatever it is it's probably illegal if you should get caught, so I'm assigning someone to make sure that doesn't happen." Harry frowned in confusion.

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't need a babysitter," he said calmly.

"Don't think of it as being given a babysitter," Hawthorne sighed, "think of it as—" he continued, but was interrupted by a knocking on his door. "Ah, speak of the devil, come in!" The door opened to reveal Harry's assigned partner: A Caucasian woman around Harry's age, with black hair pulled back into a tight bun and bright, honey-colored eyes. While the loose Unspeakable robes concealed her figure, Harry idly noted that her face at least seemed attractive.

"Sir, you asked for me?" she asked. Hawthorne nodded and offered a seat, which she took beside Harry.

"Mister Potter, meet Christine Lockley," Hawthorne introduced the woman. "Miss Lockley, meet Harry Potter." Christine looked at Harry, her eyebrow raised.

"No relation," Harry lied. The two agents looked at each other and shook hands politely before returning their attention to their superior.

"Lockley, I've finally found the perfect mission for you," Hawthorne said. "You're going to be working with Mister Potter here," he continued, gesturing towards Harry.

"Sir, with—" both agents began, and then stopped. Harry leaned back and allowed Christine to finish. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't work well with partners," she said.

"I know," Hawthorne said. "That's exactly why I'm giving you this assignment. Mister Potter here will be doing some less-than-savory work, and it's your job to keep an eye on him and make sure that he doesn't get into trouble." Christine's brow furrowed much like Harry's had earlier.

"A babysitter, sir?" she asked, trying to hide the disdain in her voice.

"That's what I told him," Harry quipped.

"However, due to the unique nature of Potter's mission, special measures have to be taken to make sure that you fulfill your mission, Lockley." Hawthorne reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope. Harry opened it to find a pair of keys, as well as specifications to a two-bedroom flat in London. He pored over the information briefly.

"It seems like a nice place," Harry said. "But what does that have to do with anything?" Hawthorne grinned knowingly and linked his fingers together.

"Due to the unusual circumstances, you two will be living together until Mister Potter's mission is complete or I assign either of you to a different one." The room was so silent that Hawthorne thought he could hear the clocks ticking from the Time Room.

"_What?!_" both agents asked, shocked.

"And how long is Mister Potter's assignment supposed to last?" Christine asked, shooting Harry a scathing glare. Hawthorne briefly flicked his eyes towards Harry, who shrugged fractionally.

"Indefinitely," Hawthorne finally said. Christine groaned and cradled her head in her hands.

"Sir, I have my own flat," Christine protested.

"I understand that it's a rental, isn't it?" Hawthorne asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Great," Hawthorne said, "then it should be easier to leave it then. I expect you to be moved in by tomorrow." Christine clenched her jaw and her fists, but eventually agreed through clenched teeth. "I'm glad that you're so accepting of this; you're both dismissed." Both agents stood up and left, Harry taking his briefcase with him. They both left the Department of Mysteries, Christine pointedly ignoring Harry until they entered the Atrium. Then, she grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and dragged him off.

"What the hell, woman?" Harry asked as he tried to shake off the grip of the obviously upset woman beside him. "Where are we going?"

"My place," she ground out.

"Look, you're an attractive woman, but I like to get to know someone first before going to their flat," Harry replied. Christine glared at him, but continued dragging him to the Apparation point.

"You're the reason why I have to move out of my flat, so you might as well help me pack," she said as they walked out onto the Apparation point and disappeared with a crack. When Harry's world returned, he found himself in a studio flat, the bathroom being the only separate room. "Alright, I take this half of the flat," Christine said, sweeping her arms from the doorway towards the bed. "And you have this half," she continued, sweeping her arms in the opposite direction before conjuring several cardboard boxes and began packing. Harry grabbed a few and turned towards the kitchenette, and with a wave of his wand, Christine's pots and pans and dishes began to pile themselves neatly inside the boxes. Taking another box, Harry walked into the bathroom and quickly packed up Christine's various toiletries.

Within ten minutes, Christine's flat was completely bare except for the furniture that came with the room itself, and having shrunken the boxes to fit in their pockets, transfigured their robes to Muggle clothes and left. As they walked out of the flat and towards Muggle London, Harry noted that Christine's body was pleasantly curved as well, and began to fall further behind.

"Keep up!" she snapped, and Harry made several long strides to catch up. "Stop falling behind," she hissed at him.

"Two feet is not falling behind," Harry retorted.

"Maybe, but I also don't want you staring at my ass," she said.

"I was _not_ staring!" Harry protested.

"Oh please, I could _feel_ your eyes on me," she countered. Harry sighed in defeat.

"Well, to be fair, it is a nice ass." Christine leered at him for a moment, before changing the subject.

"Holmes Street is this way," she said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. After wandering around for several more minutes, they finally found the building they were looking for and entered their new flat. The walls were painted beige, with light brown furniture decorating the sitting room; a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was lying on the coffee table. "Not bad," Christine admitted. "Dibs on the master bedroom." Harry pulled out the boxes out of his pocket and enlarged them so Christine could unpack. Harry sat down on the sofa and picked up the newspaper, checking the date. _June Twenty-Four, Nineteen Eighty-Three_, Harry thought as he perused the periodical. _The…other me turns three next month_. A grin grew on Harry's face that a plan formulated in his mind. _I think I know what my first move's going to be_.

"So, when are we going to start?" Christine asked.

"Tonight," Harry answered. "We start tonight."

--------

I once met a girl with honey-colored eyes.

Does anyone besides me think that, for a place that's supposed to hold the magic's greatest secrets, the DoM's security is really crappy?

Don't forget to review.

Edited 12/22/08 for factual error.


	4. Independent Variables

Well, I hope everybody had a good Christmas, and are looking forward to 2009.

I don't own Harry Potter, just any original characters that pop up in this story.

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Chapter 4 – Independent Variables

"Where are we going?" Christine asked as she inspected the various devices on her person.

"We've got a couple of stops tonight," Harry said as he tied his shoe laces, "one in Surrey, and one in Wiltshire; we're going to a Muggle neighborhood in Surrey, so I called us a car." His shoes tied, Harry walked over to his briefcase and undid the latches.

"What are we doing in two counties, on opposite ends of us fo—whoa," she gasped, her question faltering when she saw the money in Harry's briefcase. "Shouldn't that be in a vault somewhere?"

"I don't trust the goblins," Harry said simply as he pulled out a small carrying case and opened it. Inside was a silver syringe as long as his hand. Instead of a needle, however, there was a wide suction cup on the end.

"Why not?" Christine asked as Harry pocketed the strange device and closed his briefcase.

"Think about it," Harry said. "The goblins control this country's gold, am I right?" Christine nodded in agreement. "History has proven that the goblins and the wizards don't get along; in fact, I can recall off the top of my head at least six wars between the goblins and wizards," he continued. Christine winced as she recalled the numerous hours wasted on listening to Professor Binns drone on about just such a subject when she was at Hogwarts. "They are an independent nation to us; they control all our money and give nothing that can't afford to be lost back. If the goblins decide to declare war on us again, they are perfectly capable of seizing the gold of every witch and wizard in this country to finance their campaign. With the wizards economically crippled, we would be crushed in an instant." Harry carefully omitted the fact that just such an event happened in his timeline. While it had struck a major economic blow to Voldemort on the British front, it was soon rendered moot by nuclear annihilation.

"I see," Christine said. "So what should I do with my gold then?" she asked.

"I would suggest melting it down and selling it," Harry said as they walked to the door. "In the Muggle market, gold is selling for about four hundred pounds an ounce." Harry opened the door and allowed Christine out before exiting himself. They stepped outside the building to see the ministry-assigned black 1983 Ford Crown Victoria waiting for them by the curb. After they climbed in, Harry turned the ignition and they drove off. For several long, tense minutes, neither of them spoke. "Listen, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about getting you kicked out of your flat," he eventually said. "I can talk to Hawthorne tomorrow to see if you can get it back."

"No, that's okay," Christine sighed as she looked out the window, watching the buildings fly past. "Once Hawthorne puts his mind to something, he doesn't change it easily." Harry chuckled at the statement. "And I guess I should apologize for my being a bitch earlier today."

"You were upset," Harry dismissed.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't excuse my immature and unprofessional behavior," she persisted. "Hell, Hawthorne's probably going to demote me when this is all over for that scene I made in his office."

"Nah, I don't think so," Harry said consolingly. "Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be stuck together for a while."

"That's comforting," Christine deadpanned.

"That was mean," Harry pouted, and she could not help but smirk slightly. "So, you got any family?" he asked, deciding to change the subject.

"My parents," Christine replied. "My dad was something of a conspiracy theorist, always going on about how the government was trying to manipulate the population via mind control and other crap like that."

"Reminds me of a girl I used to know," Harry chuckled, thinking back to Luna Lovegood and her outlandish ideas.

"I guess you could say that's why I became an Unspeakable," she continued, "to show to him that he was wrong. Obviously, he wasn't too thrilled about my decision to become 'one of them,'" she said bitterly. "So, what about you?" Harry did not immediately respond as he thought back to the Dursleys, and how they would be at his first destination.

"None that I'm willing to acknowledge," he said simply. Christine took the hint and did not question him further. They continued to ride in silence until they reached their destination: Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Harry shut off the car and quietly exited the car, being careful not to close his door too loudly.

"What are we doing here?" Christine asked in a stage whisper.

"You'll see in a minute," Harry said cryptically as he drew the silver syringe from his pocket. He placed the suction cup on the deadbolt, over the keyhole and pressed down on the plunger. He then twisted the device, and the lock opened with a soft click. Harry pulled the plunger back and repeated the action on the knob lock. Stowing the syringe away, Harry slowly opened the door and snuck inside, Christine following him. Thankfully, the light from the street was bright enough for them to maneuver without bumping into anything. Harry's expression grew dark when he laid eyes on the cupboard under the stairs, but swiftly unlocked the padlock sealing it shut and opened the door, Christine gasping softly at the sight inside.

Laying on what seemed to be an old, threadbare towel was a nearly three-year-old Harry Potter. The large castaway shirt that he was wearing made his already diminutive figure seem even smaller. The older Harry saw a bruise on his arm, and from the brown stain on the seat of the younger Harry's diaper, he had not been changed in days.

"Who could do such a thing?" Christine asked, shocked.

"People of the worst sort," Harry replied, unintentionally paraphrasing the words that Professor McGonnagal had used to describe the Dursleys two years prior. Harry bent down and carefully lifted up his younger self's sleeping form and placed him in Christine's arms. "You take him back to the car, I need to get a couple of other things from here," he said. Christine nodded and carried the child in her arms out of the house. Meanwhile, Harry had left for the kitchen and, after flicking a small light on, began rummaging through the drawers. He eventually found the two items he needed: a piece of paper containing his uncle's signature, and his checkbook, complete with account number. Grinning triumphantly, Harry shut off the light and left with his prize.

Outside, Christine looked down pitifully at the child before her. Carefully, she removed the filthy diaper, groaning in disgust at the human waste caked onto the diaper and the boy's body. Vanishing the diaper, she cleaned Harry up with a flick of her wand and transfigured a fresh diaper from a pebble. After thoroughly cleaning her hands, she brushed the hair away from his face, revealing the infamous lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, and began to seethe. While she despised child abuse in general, to find the savior (no matter how unintentional) of the wizarding world in this state made her blood boil. She wanted to hunt down the person responsible for putting Harry there and rip them apart, along with the…people inside the house. But as the older Harry walked out of the house, she suddenly realized that he seemed to know _exactly_ where the Boy-Who-Lived was. Figuring that now would not be the best time to question him on such an oddity, she conjured a car seat and strapped the young Harry in before climbing into the passenger seat.

They drove in silence to the nearest hospital. When they arrived, Harry threw up a quick glamour charm to cover his scar and they entered the hospital, the young Harry in his older self's arms.

"Help us, someone please help us!" Harry gasped, as if panicked. Immediately, a nurse was at their side, asking what was wrong. "We found this boy lying in our yard. I think he might be hurt," Harry said. The nurse immediately called for a stretcher, and the young Harry was wheeled away, leaving the two adults standing in the lobby.

"May I ask what happened?" the nurse asked.

"We…" Christine began, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, "we were just coming home from dinner, when we saw something lying on the lawn. We thought it was a stray dog or something, so my boyfriend here went to chase it away. But when he saw that it was a boy, we panicked. He just looked so sick, that we didn't know what else to do." Christine sniffled and gasped, looking as if she were about to throw up. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling so good; could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Of course, follow me," the nurse said, leading them to the restrooms. Christine immediately bolted into the women's room and began making retching noises. "I'm going to go call the police, they'll want to ask you some questions," the nurse said to Harry.

"Of course, go ahead, we'll be back in a minute," Harry said. As the nurse turned away to leave, Harry drew his wand and flicked it at her, erasing their faces from her memory. A few seconds later, Christine poked her head out, her eyes red but otherwise composed.

"She's gone? Great, let's get out of here before the police show up," she said, retreating back into the restroom. A moment later, Harry heard the distinct crack of Apparation. Harry then went into the men's room and, after checking to make sure that no one else was around, Disapparated himself, reappearing next to their car, climbing into the car and driving away. However, as they rolled out of the parking lot and around the corner, another crack echoed in the parking lot, signaling yet another Apparation.

------

In the headmaster's office of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of many strange silver devices began to spin wildly, emitting a shrill noise that grated on the minds of all present to hear it. One of the portraits tolerated the sound for all of ten seconds before he left to occupy a vacant frame in the headmaster's private chambers.

"Albus, wake up!" Phineas Nigellus shouted, rousing the elderly man from his sleep. "One of your toys is making an awful racket, and it's driving everyone insane." Albus Dumbledore eventually hauled himself out of bed and into his main office, gracing everyone present with the sight of his purple and green night robes. He tapped the shrieking device with his wand, mercifully silencing it, before he began to inspect it.

"Curious," he muttered to himself. "I must look into this. Shame Fawkes has just had a burning day." Quickly changing into a Muggle business suit and casting a charm on himself to appear cleanly shaven with short hair, Dumbledore moved to the edge of the anti-apparation wards at Hogwarts with surprising speed for a man his age and Disapparated, reappearing in the parking lot of the hospital. Smoothing out his jacket, Dumbledore strode into the hospital and spoke to the nurse that Harry and Christine had spoken to earlier.

"Yes, can I help you?" the nurse asked. Dumbledore discreetly drew his wand and hid it up his sleeve.

"Yes, I understand that you have recently admitted a young boy with black hair and a scar on his forehead?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"Yes, we did, but how did you know that?" the nurse asked suspiciously. Dumbledore twitched his wand, and the nurse's eyes momentarily glazed over before returning to normal.

"That's not important," Dumbledore dismissed. "The boy is my grandson, who went missing a few days ago. I was wondering if I could take him now."

"I'm sorry sir, but he was pretty messed up when the people who found him arrived," the nurse said apologetically. "We're going to have to keep him here for a few days while he recovers."Dumbledore frowned at the news. Someone had found Harry? But the blood wards that he erected would have made that impossible.

"These people, what did they look like?" Dumbledore asked, flicking his wand again. The nurse frowned in concentration, trying to recall their faces.

"I'm sorry, I don't really remember," she said. Dumbledore did a quick sweep of her memory, and saw two figures walk into the hospital, Harry in the arms of one. However, their faces were completely obscured; Dumbledore could not even tell their hair color. While he might have been able to recover the lost information, it would take time, and could not be done in the public unnoticed, so he retreated from the nurse's mind.

"Could I see him then?" he asked. Nodding, the nurse led Dumbledore to Harry's bed, where he laid asleep, an intravenous tube inserted into his arm. "Could I have a moment alone, please?" he asked. As the nurse left the two alone, Dumbledore cast one final charm on her before closing the privacy curtain and casting temporary notice-me-not and silencing charms on it. He then began to deactivate the machinery monitoring Harry's vital signs, and carefully removed the IV tube, healing the wound. Transfiguring his hospital robe into tattered, oversized clothes, he Disapparated, and the time-delayed Obliviation activated, wiping all knowledge of Harry and Dumbledore from the nurse's mind.

Dumbledore reappeared in front of Number 4 Privet Drive and, entering the house, placed Harry back into the cupboard under the stairs and closed the door.

"I truly am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, "but this is for the greater good." With those words, he exited the house, relocked the door and disappeared.

A few minutes later, two police officers entered the hospital, heading towards the nurse.

"I'm Officer Monroe, this is my partner Officer Jenkins; I understand that you called about an injured child?" one of the officers said. The nurse furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall any injured child," the nurse said. "Nancy, did you call about an injured child?"

"No, ma'am, you did," the other woman, Nancy said, confused by her co-worker's behavior.

"But that's impossible," the nurse said incredulously, "I just got back from checking on the new accident victim." At her colleague's words, Nancy's expression changed from confusion to concern.

"That was fifteen minutes ago," she said.

"What?" the nurse said, checking her watch. Indeed, it was over fifteen minutes later than she thought it was. "But…that's not possible…" she gasped.

"Ma'am?" Officer Monroe asked in concern. The nurse's expression was a mixture of confusion and fright.

"I…don't remember."

------

Meanwhile, Harry and Christine were driving west to get to Wiltshire.

"How did you know he was there?" Christine asked. Harry was silent as he pondered his answer.

"I had a hunch," he finally said.

"A hunch? A _hunch_?" Christine repeated incredulously. "You know what, fuck it; I want answers Potter, if that even is your real name. How did you know where Harry Potter was when an auror team investigated for _six months_, and couldn't find him? And for that matter, where the hell did you come from, since I've never seen you before," she ranted. Harry sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"I can't answer any of those," he replied.

"You can't, or you won't?" Christine asked.

"I can't," Harry said. "All I can say is that I promised not to talk about it except to those I trust, and no offense, but I don't trust you right now." They drove for several more minutes in tense silence until Christine spoke again.

"Do you at least know who put him in that hellhole?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said, "but you're not going to believe me."

"Try me," Christine challenged. Harry sighed again.

"Alright, it's Dumbledore," he said. Christine's eyes widened at the statement.

"Dumbledore, as in _the_ Dumbledore?" she asked, shocked. "The Hogwarts headmaster, not to mention holds top position on practically every major organization in Britain Dumbledore?" Christine leaned back into her seat while she processed the information. "You're right, I don't believe you." Harry shrugged his shoulders neutrally.

"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not, it's the truth," he said as he turned onto a side road. They continued down this way for several more minutes until Harry stopped abruptly. "We're going to have to walk from here," he said as he exited the car, Christine following suit. The two Unspeakables hiked up a hill and saw a manor in the distance, light glowing brightly from its windows. Harry pulled out a pair of pocket omninoculars from his pocket and zoomed in on the mansion. Peering through the windows, he saw several more figures than he expected, so he activated a feature that would allow him to see through the walls, and swore profusely at what he saw.

"What?" Christine asked, peering through her own omninoculars.

"There's a party there, we can't do this tonight," Harry grumbled as he began walking down the hill.

"Can't do what tonight?" Christine asked as she followed her partner.

"Rob Malfoy Manor," Harry said simply as he slid into the driver's seat.

"_What_?" Christine exclaimed. "Why would you want to rob Malfoy Manor?" Harry sighed deeply as he turned the car around and began to drive away.

"Because he has something that he shouldn't, something that I need," Harry explained cryptically. Christine glared at him for his vagueness.

"Could you be a little bit more specific than that?" she asked. Harry tried to think of a response without outright stating what he was looking for.

"Alright, I'll throw you a bone," he said. "Have you ever heard of Koschei the Deathless?" he asked.

"Yeah," Christine replied, "he was a Russian Dark Lord in the fifteenth century, what does that have to do with—oh," she said in realization as she remembered just what Koschei was infamous for, besides his reign of terror:

The creation of the first horcrux.

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For those who may not know, Koschei the Deathless is an evil figure in Russian folklore that hid his soul in several objects, which in turn were hidden in a remote location. He could not die until these objects were destroyed. Sound familiar?

I've got chapter 11 of Daddy Dearest in the works right now, so don't think I've abandoned my other stories.

Don't forget to review!


	5. Smuggling Operations

I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've last updated, but I just haven't felt like writing lately. Schoolwork and video games have also taken up a lot of my time.

I don't own Harry Potter, just the plot and any OC's that pop up.

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Chapter 5 – Smuggling Operations

"No…" Harry muttered as he twisted in his bed, in the throes of another nightmare. Images flashed through his mind: Cedric Diggory falling before Wormtail's killing curse, Sirius Black falling through the veil, Hermione falling being struck with a green light before falling limply, a large cloud of dust and smoke where his final friend once stood…. So many images flashed through Harry's mind that they eventually bled together into a gestalt of all the pain and agony that he had to witness in his lifetime.

Eventually, the blur of colors and feelings faded away into blackness, but Harry was no longer alone. Now he was surrounded by his friends, all staring at him with dead, accusing eyes.

"Why didn't you stop him, Harry?" Cedric asked. "He was right there; one _expelliarmus_, and we could have been free, and I'd still be alive." Harry began to stammer out a response before he was interrupted by Sirius' voice.

"If you had just stayed at Hogwarts like you were supposed to, I never would have gone to the Department of Mysteries," he said. "I wouldn't have died trying to save you."

"I-I—" Harry said before he was interrupted again, this time by Ginny.

"You abandoned us, Harry," she said. "You abandoned us when we needed you most."

"I'm sorry…" Harry sobbed as he fell to his knees, clutching his head as the cacophony of noise swirled around him.

------

Harry woke with a gasp, his bed sheets soaked in cold sweat. Sitting up, he looked at the bedside clock and groaned when it read 3:14 in the morning. _Well, here's to another sleepless night_, he thought as he peeled himself out of his sweaty covers and slid on his glasses. Flipping on his bedroom light, he found a piece of parchment and a pen and left for the dining room, turning on another light and sitting at the table. Harry tapped the pen on the table for a few seconds before he began to write down various names and words.

_Harry Potter_. Harry was curious about the state of his younger self, and figured that he should pay a visit to the hospital that he had left him at, to see what had happened with him. And besides, he still needed to extract the scar horcrux from him in order to complete his mission. He wrote the word "scar" and drew an arrow pointing to his name.

_Sirius Black_. Harry knew that his godfather was currently rotting in Azkaban prison at the moment, but unfortunately there was little that he could do about it at the moment. If he helped Sirius to escape, then it would only make things harder when he tried to clear his name, and if Harry tried to get him out legally, then the undesirable bodies on the Wizengamot, such as Malfoy or Crouch, would aim to make the process as long and difficult as humanly possible, or throw the case out altogether; they would also ask uncomfortable questions such as how he knew of Sirius' innocence, and where to find the proof. He eventually decided to trim some of the fat from the Ministry first, and then try once the dust had settled. Sirius was strong; he could wait.

_Lucius Malfoy_, one of the biggest names in magical Britain today, and ostensibly Voldemort's right-hand man. With his money and connections, the man could sway virtually any event that crossed the Wizengamot's path in his favor. This combined with his possession of a horcrux made Malfoy a top priority in Harry's mind. He considered simply stealing the diary and covertly assassinating Malfoy, but decided against it. If Malfoy simply died, then his wealth would still potentially be in the hands of the Death Eaters through his wife, who was a supporter of their cause if nothing else. Also, it just didn't seem to be enough for the aristocratic pureblood to simply die; Harry wanted to bring him down a few notches first. He circled the name and drew an arrow leading to the name, "Rita Skeeter?" Next to Malfoy's name, he wrote "high priority" and moved on.

_Severus Snape_. Harry was conflicted about what to do with the greasy-haired potions master. On the one hand, he was ultimately on Dumbledore's side. However, he was also a cruel, bigoted, vindictive bully who was indirectly responsible for his parents' deaths. Choosing to decide his ultimate fate at a later time, Harry wrote "high-priority – disable before Sep. 1" next to the name.

_Bellatrix Lestrange_. Harry scowled when he wrote the name down, anger bubbling under his skin for the woman. She, her husband and brother-in-law were all dangerous Death Eaters, and she also had access to the Hufflepuff horcrux. However, it was a relief that the three Lestranges were all currently locked up in Azkaban. They were potential problems, but were safely placed somewhere where Harry could find and deal with them later; "medium priority" was written next to the name.

_Wormtail, a.k.a., Peter Pettigrew_. While the treacherous rat was responsible for his parents' deaths and Sirius' incarceration, he was also a weakling who really only took action when forced to by those more powerful than him. Harry suspected that he was with the Weasleys now, and while he wanted to simply Apparate over there and snatch the rat in the night, he had bigger priorities, so Wormtail received a "low priority" rating.

_Dolores Umbridge_, another name that stirred Harry's anger. While not a Death Eater proper, she was certainly sympathetic to their cause, and definitely foul enough to be an honorary member. She too was a thorn in his side from the Ministry, and would have to be disposed of. However, other than his grudge for her, there was no reason in the context of his mission for him to deal with her, so after a brief glance at the faded scar on his hand, he wrote "medium-to-low priority."

Bartemius Crouch was another problem. While not evil, he was the man who sentenced Sirius, and probably others, to Azkaban without trial, something that would need to be looked into by someone later. Happy with simply damaging his reputation, Harry added another arrow pointing to Rita Skeeter's name. His son, however, would require a more permanent solution. "Low priority" was written next to the name.

Now that the major names that he could think of had been written down, Harry began to write down the horcruxes that he needed to find. The diary and the cup he wrote down and pointed to their respective handlers, which left the locket, the ring and the final object.

Harry knew that Regulus Black had stolen the Slytherin locket prior to his death, and from what he remember of the Black family tapestry, it was several years before his appearance, so the item was most likely at 12 Grimmauld Place. However, with Sirius in Azkaban, Harry had no idea how difficult it would be for him to enter, or if it was even possible at all. After drawing an arrow towards Sirius' name, also wrote down "curse breakers", along with another arrow. He figured that if it became necessary, he could always hire a team to tear down whatever offensive wards may be in place, and had more than enough gold on hand to buy some extra discretion.

The ring would be a different challenge. While he figured that, at this point in time, the ring would most likely be at the Gaunt ancestral home, Harry had no idea where exactly it was, other than it was near Little Hangleton, judging by the memory that Dumbledore had provided during his sixth year. Adding another arrow to "Little Hangleton – investigate area", he moved on to the final, and potentially most problematic horcrux.

After going through various books on historical artifacts during the past – or future as the case may be, Harry had decided that the most likely candidate for the final horcrux was Ravenclaw's diadem. However, none of the books he read had provided a picture of said artifact, so he had no idea what he was looking for. However, he did remember seeing a crown in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts; that would require further investigation. After further thought, Harry decided that he might as well dispose of the basilisk while he was there, just in case.

Finished writing down his plans, Harry walked back up to his room and placed the parchment into his briefcase for protection. As he opened it, he also spotted a rubber-like object inside. He took it and saw that it was a latex mask, like one would wear on Halloween, with two transparent films over the eye holes. Harry had an idea as to what this object was, so he took off his glasses and slid the mask over his head. The material hung loosely from his face before it tightened up and eventually became indistinguishable from his own skin. Placing his glasses back on, he turned to face the mirror to see his face unchanged.

Concentrating on the appearance of his face without the large scar on its right side, the disfigurement eventually disappeared, leaving Harry's face clean of the blemish. With a thought, Harry's emerald-green eyes turned to sky blue; another thought changed his long black hair to a spiky blond. As a test, Harry changed his face to that of his old classmate, Lee Jordan. However, while his face was darkened, his hands remained their natural pale color. Harry concentrated on Christine's face, but his own did not change. He then tried thinking about his Uncle Vernon, also to no effect. Now knowing the limitations of the mask, he reverted back to is natural look and peeled it off.

Feeling that his sheets were now dry, he flopped back onto his bed and closed his eyes, hoping to get at least a couple more hours of sleep.

------

When Harry next opened his eyes, his clock read 6:26, a much more satisfactory time. Stretching out, Harry shuffled down to the kitchen, where Christine had just poured herself a cup of tea.

"'Morning," Harry yawned as he poured himself a cup.

"'Morning," Christine replied.

"I have a question," Harry said as he opened the refrigerator to find something to eat.

"What is it?" Christine asked.

"Say you want someone to disappear for a few months," Harry said as he pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of marmalade. "How would you do that without either bribing or imprisoning them?" Christine pondered the question as she sipped her tea.

"The easiest way I can think of is for them to be caught in a foreign country without the proper papers," she said. "Getting caught without them can easily tie you up for two months or more."

"Okay, how about if the person's home government tries to interfere?" Harry asked as he smeared the marmalade over the bread.

"Then they'd better have a damn good reason why the person they're trying to support is out illegally," Christine replied, taking some bread for herself. "If they try to claim theft, then there'd be an investigation, which takes time. If they claim espionage, then there'd be a liaison to vouch for the suspect."

"Huh," Harry grunted. "How do you know all this?"

"Me and the rest of my class had to sneak in and out of Italy as part of basic training," Christine said. "I was one of ones who got caught." Harry grimaced sympathetically.

"That can't have been good for your grade," he said.

"Nope," Christine responded. "Didn't you go through this on your own training?" she asked him.

"Uhh, no," Harry said, trying to hide his sudden nervousness. "I kind of got the crash course." Now it was Christine's turn to display sympathy.

"Why do you ask?" she asked him.

"Well, I know the location of a Death Eater, not especially dangerous," Harry explained. "The problem is, is that he has friends in high places, so we can't just take him to court, so I was thinking of making him…disappear for a while we take care of other stuff." Christine thought over the plan, and nodded in acceptance.

"Alright, so where are we going?" she asked. When Harry transfigured his plate and cup into a birdcage and an eagle owl, she added, "And what are you doing?"

"Spinner's End," Harry said, "and I'm creating our cover," he continued as he placed the owl into the cage. "Owl salespeople!" he said proudly. In response, Christine raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"O…kay," she said uncertainly, "I'm going to go get ready," she added as she gulped down the last of her tea and went upstairs. Harry followed her, grabbing his mask and slipping it on. He then changed his appearance to that of a pimply, slightly-buck-toothed man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. When he came back downstairs, Christine had changed her hair blond, and was wearing a pair of thick, square glasses, along with a threadbare set of brown robes. After casting a mild notice-me-not charm on their clothes, he asked if she was ready; when she responded in the affirmative, he Apparated them to the beginning of Spinner's End. Walking to the first door they saw, Harry knocked on the door, prompting a middle-aged woman to answer.

"Hello, good miss, may I interest you in this fine Eurasian eagle owl today?" Harry asked, speaking with a higher and more nasal voice than his natural tone. Christine merely smiled behind him.

"No thanks, I already have an owl," the woman refused.

"Very well then, good day to you miss," Harry said as the woman closed the door. "Alright," he continued softly in his natural voice, "onto the next one." They knocked on the next door, and for several seconds, no one answered. Suddenly, the door flew open to reveal the younger, but no less recognizable face of Severus Snape.

"What do you dunderheads want?!" he snapped. In response, Harry simply whipped his wand out and stunned the potion master faster than he could respond before the two Unspeakables stepped in and closed the door. Harry snatched up Snape's wand while Christine canceled the charms that altered her appearance and made her fake glasses disappear before altering her robes into a more fashionable set.

"Okay, do you have a passport?" she asked Harry, who shook his head. "Damn. Okay, there's a magical sensor when we enter the country, but the threshold's wide enough that if you hold him up and walk sideways as I enter, they'll think I'll set it off. I'll distract them while you go on ahead, okay?" Harry nodded and grabbed the unconscious Snape from under his arms before Christine made both of them turn invisible. Then they exited the house and she flagged down the Knight Bus.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation for the stranded witch or wizard," the conductor read off of a cue card. "My name is Bill Slipmingle, and I'll be your conductor today."

"Italy, please," Christine said as she walked on, Harry right behind her.

"I'm afraid that that'll cost extra, ma'am, three galleons," Bill said. Christine simply dug out the appropriate amount of money and handed it over before sitting down near the back of the bus. Harry grunted softly in the seat next to her.

"For such a skinny guy, he's pretty heavy," Harry whispered as the bus lurched forth with a bang. A few minutes later, they made an abrupt stop.

"We're here, lady!" the conductor yelled from the front. Christine and Harry stood up and exited the bus and into the international terminal in Sicily. Almost immediately, a guard walked up to Christine, narrowly avoiding bumping into Harry on the way.

"May I see your passport please, miss?" the guard asked politely. Christine withdrew the small booklet from her pocket and presented it to the guard, who looked it over briefly and tapped it with his wand before handing it back. "Please empty your pockets and walk through the scanner," he said as he pointed to a seven-foot-high stone arch in the middle of the room.

"Thanks," Christine said as she withdrew her wand, as well as a bag of gold and placed them in a bucket before walking through, Harry sidestepping beside her. As she said before, alarms went off and more guards stopped her while Harry went on ahead. Christine dug through her pockets and pulled out a communication mirror. "Oops, silly me," she giggled as she placed it in the bucket.

"It happens," one of the guards said, smiling understandingly. When Christine stepped through a second time, the arch remained silent, and her effects were returned to her. Once she had walked a fair distance from the guards, Harry whispered into her ear.

"I'm going to go cancel the charm in the loo," he said. A few minutes later, he appeared in his normal appearance, save his scar. "He's levitating beside me," he said, answering her unasked question.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm, "I know a place where we can drop him off." Once Harry grabbed what seemed to be empty air, they Disapparated, reappearing in a busy street that reminded Harry of Diagon Alley. Christine pulled him to an empty side alley, where they canceled the disillusionment charm on Snape and dropped him for someone to find. "Alright, let's get out of here," she said while rendering Harry invisible before the both Apparated back to the international terminal, this time heading towards the Floo area. After showing her passport again, they walked through the Floo back to England, where they then Apparated back to their flat.

"Alright, that's done so where to next?" Christine asked. Harry thought for a moment before shrugging.

"We could always try Malfoy Manor next," he suggested.

"Alright, then; let's go," she said.

"Let's go."

----

I originally wanted to end the chapter with Dumbledore trying to bail Snape out of trouble, as per usual, only to be shot down, but the chapter was already running longer than I expected, so I decided to save it for next chapter.

A reviewer suggested that I make a prequel for this story detailing Voldemort's rise to power and Harry's change from his canon self during early DH to the man he is here. While I won't be taking up this challenge myself (history plus politics plus me equals mediocre material at best), but this is an interesting idea, and I'd love someone else to take it up.

So, if you're interested, consider it a challenge. If you do it, please send me a PM when you post it so that I may read it. Thanks.

Don't forget to review!


	6. Firestarter

I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 6 – Firestarter

Albus Dumbledore was beginning to feel the effects of a headache come on to him. Earlier that day, his various connections had informed him that Severus Snape had been arrested in Italy. He could not have his primary spy incarcerated in another country, so he had made a call to the Italian head of Magical Law Enforcement to exonerate Snape and release him back to England.

It was not going well.

"Please, Signor Marchelli, this must be some mistake," Dumbledore pleaded. "I ask you to release him into my supervision."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mister Dumbledore," Marchelli replied. "Mister Snape was found unconscious without his wand or relevant papers, as well as baring the mark of a known criminal organization."

"I already explained the Dark Mark, Signor, Severus is a—" Dumbledore began, before Marchelli cut him off.

"Is a spy, yes, yes, so you've said," the Italian mad said. "And it will be brought to light during the court hearing. However, it still does not explain his presence here, or his lack of appropriate paperwork."

"Perhaps he had been mugged?" Dumbledore suggested; he honestly doubted that Snape could be taken down by muggers, but it _was_ still a possibility, and would hopefully convince the uncooperative man before him to surrender.

"Perhaps," Marchelli agreed. "However, at this point it is merely speculation; he has refused to offer a pensieve memory, as well as a legilimency probe and an interview under veritaserum. Considering his refusal to cooperate, as well as a lack of evidence suggesting otherwise, we have to assume that he has entered the country illegally."

"And what happens if I'm right?" Dumbledore asked.

"If you are right, and Mister Snape has been mugged, then we will return him to England with our apologies," Marchelli said. "However, if it turns out that he _is_ here illegally, then he will be a guest of Italy's penitentiary system for the next fifteen months. And if you try to interfere with our investigation, Mister Dumbledore, then you will be arrested for obstruction of justice," the Italian added. "Good day, Mister Dumbledore," he said before terminating the Floo connection. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore leaned back into his chair and rubbed his forehead; his day was not going well, and he had a feeling that in the future, things would only get worse.

------

"So, what are we looking for?" Christine asked as she and Harry drove back to Malfoy Manor.

"It's a black leather-bound diary, about yea by yea by yea," Harry said, displaying the rough measurements of the diary horcrux's dimensions. "It's got the name T. M. Riddle on the front. It's probably hidden in a safe somewhere, which is why I brought these," he continued, holding up two complicated-looking goggles, seemingly suited more for observing microscopic life than searching for hidden safes.

"And what about those?" she asked, pointing her thumb to the two jugs of petroleum sloshing around in the back seat.

"That's a surprise," Harry said, a mischievous grin on his face. Unsure of what Harry meant by "surprise", Christine simply looked forward and drove back to where they were the night before. Taking out his pocket omninoculars again, Harry scanned the house. "Okay, it seems that there's only the house elf in the main dining room, so we take it out first, and then we begin our search." After exiting the car, Harry rolled down the backseat window before the walked over to Malfoy Manor.

Sneaking up to the front door, Harry removed his glasses and put on the goggles, inspecting the runes and ward work surrounding the lock.

"Okay, it seems like there's an alarm set to go off if someone tries to unlock the door with magic without disabling it first," he said, pulling out his unlocking tool. "Luckily, I have this." Placing the tip over the keyhole, Harry pushed down on the plunger and twisted until the door unlocked with a click. Casting silencing charms on their feet, they slowly entered the house and snuck around until they saw the house elf, meticulously cleaning various surfaces. Taking aim, Harry fired a silent stunner, incapacitating the house elf. After binding it, Harry grabbed a piece of cutlery and turned it into a portkey before placing it on the elf. "That should get it out of the way," Harry said as the small creature disappeared. "Alright, let's split up and meet back here," he said. "If you find any incriminating papers lying around, take those as well." With their objectives set, Harry left for Lucius Malfoy's office.

Flipping though the various files, Harry eventually found a stack of signed, unwritten checks. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry shoved the notes into his pocket and continued perusing through the papers. After digging up a few papers containing Malfoy's Gringotts account numbers, Harry began to inspect the room for any hidden caches. He spotted one underneath the desk, and removed the concealment charms from it. Unlocking the safe, he levitated the contents out. Inside were more folders with financial information, as well as photos of a much younger Cornelius Fudge in a rather compromising position.

"Ugh, I did not need to see that," Harry groaned as he stuffed the pictures into a random folder. Not finding the diary here, Harry shrunk the illicit information to fit into his pocket and vacated the office to search elsewhere. Entering the manor's library, he raised his wand and said, "_Accio horcrux_," disappointed when nothing happened. "Oh well, it was worth a shot," he said. With another flick of his wand, all the books that were not black drifted off the shelves and floated in the air. After shaking them to make sure that the diary was not hiding within the pages of any of them, Harry flung the books into a haphazard pile in a corner of the room. Repeating the action with the remaining books, Harry growled in frustration when he still could not find the diary. Donning his goggles, he could find no hidden safes within the library, and so he moved on to other parts of the manor.

Half an hour had passed before Harry and Christine met at their rendezvous point.

"Did you find anything?" Harry asked.

"I found a couple of safes that I couldn't open," his partner said, patting her pocket. "I'll have the ward breakers crack them back at HQ. How about you?" she asked.

"I found some financial and blackmail info, but not the horcrux," Harry admitted. "Hopefully, it'll be in one of the safes that you found."

"So what do we do now?" Christine asked. Harry walked to a nearby window, raised it and pointed his wand out.

"_Accio petrol_," he chanted. For a few seconds, nothing happened.

"Aren't we a little far away to be using that spell?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, just give it a second," Harry insisted, staring out the window. A few seconds later, the two petroleum jugs flew into Harry, knocking the wind out of his chest and knocking him back. "That came in harder than I expected," he gasped, handing Christine one of the containers. "Splash it around, try to cover as much as you can," he said, unscrewing the cap and pouring the fuel around the room.

"What are you doing?" she asked, still holding her tank of fuel.

"Covering our tracks," Harry said. "If this place burns down, then no one will notice that anything is missing. And if nothing else, it'll be a blow to Malfoy's bank account to have to rebuild this place."

"But won't the fire-suppressant charms prevent this?" she asked.

"They prevent magical fires," he clarified. "Hopefully, they won't affect good ol' fashioned petrol and matches. And if they do, there's always fiendfyre." Christine considered it for a moment before shrugging and copying Harry's actions, spreading the petroleum throughout the room. Once that and the adjacent room were liberally splashed with the flammable liquid, Harry took a matchbox out of his pocket and lit a single match. "You might want to step back," he warned his partner, who followed his advice. Harry tossed the burning match into the petroleum-soaked room and watched as the single flame blossomed outward into a room-consuming blaze. Stepping back and covering his face with his sleeve to block the fumes, Harry turned to his partner and said, "We should probably get out of here."

"Agreed," she said before they Disapparated back at the position of the car. They watched for a few seconds as the fire began to consume the rest of the house before they climbed back into the car and drove off, Malfoy Manor billowing plumes of black smoke behind them.

------

"So you say you want what's inside these safes?" the Department of Mysteries ward breaker asked.

"Yes," Harry said. The ward breaker inspected the two containers for a few seconds before he spoke again.

"They're tricky, but doable," he said. "I can have them open sometime tomorrow."

"That'd be great, thanks," Christine said.

"Just doin' my job," the ward breaker said modestly. Bidding the man goodbye, Harry and Christine walked out of the room.

"So, in one day, we committed kidnapping, trafficking, burglary and arson, not bad for a day's work, eh?" Harry asked.

"It's not bad," Christine said, shrugging. "What's next on the agenda?"

"Home, I need a shower," he said. She hummed in agreement, and once they had entered a Disapparation point, they returned to their flat, where Harry grabbed a spare set of clothes and jumped into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, Harry was lying on the couch while Christine bathed. _Hopefully, all this work will yield something worthwhile_, he thought, _like a horcrux_. As he began to doze off, he idly wondered what tomorrow's headline would say.

------

The next day, Harry and Christine returned to the ward breaker to check on his progress.

"Alright, I cracked them open for you," the man said when they arrived. "And I found some pretty nasty stuff in here. I mean, books on dark arts, cursed jewelry, whatever the hell that is," he said, pointing to a shriveled object that looked like it used to be alive, "but the worst thing of all was this," he continued, pointing to a small, plain black diary. "I don't know what it is, but it's emitting the darkest magic I've ever seen, I mean, it almost seems _unnatural_."

"You've done good work," Harry said, picking up the diary with a pair of forceps and dropping it into a bag, "send the rest of these to the proper analysis and disposal teams."

"You got it," the ward breaker said as the two Unspeakables left. While they were waiting for the room to stop spinning, Christine looked down at the bag in Harry's hand.

"So that's a horcrux," she said, more as a statement than a question.

"Yep," Harry confirmed.

"How did you know that Malfoy would have it?" she asked. As the spinning doors began to slow down, Harry turned and gave her a meaningful look.

"A hunch," he said as the room stopped, and he entered the room he desired, which contained several scientists inspecting various artifacts.

"Can I help you?" the man closest to the door asked, not looking up from his work.

"I need to use the D.A.D.," Harry said, causing the scientist to look up in surprise.

"Big Daddy?" he asked incredulously. "You must have some pretty nasty shit in your hand to need that."

"The worst," Harry said. Without another word, the scientist waved his wand at the far wall in the room, which began to slide open like the entrance to Diagon Alley, eventually revealing a large windowless furnace, three-foot-long forceps hanging from its side. The door was emblazoned with glowing red letters:

**DANGEROUS ARTIFACT DISPOSAL. WARNING: FIENDFYRE! USE EXTREME CAUTION!**

Harry walked over to the furnace and grabbed the forceps, wincing at the heat radiating from the furnace's core. Taking several steps back, Harry set the bag containing the horcrux down on the floor and used the forceps to open the furnace hatch, revealing the fiendfyre blazing within. Grabbing the bag with the forceps, Harry carefully lowered the horcrux into the furnace and closed the hatch, the flames already attacking the dark artifact. Hanging the forceps back on its hook, the wall closed itself, concealing the furnace from the world until the next time it was needed.

Dusting his hands, Harry exited the room to find Hawthorne there waiting, newspaper in hand.

"Ahh, just the man I wanted to see," he said. "I'd like to have a word with you in my office," he continued. Understanding that it was not a request, Harry followed his superior into his office, where several privacy charms were erected and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was slammed onto the desk, the words _**MALFOY HOME DESTROYED IN BLAZE**_ printed on the front cover. "Tell me, Potter," Hawthorne said, steepling his fingers, "is this your idea of 'subtle?'"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feigning innocence.

"You're a man from the future claiming to be on a mission to stop Voldemort," Hawthorne said, "and now, one of his inner circle's home is burned to the ground; don't think I didn't make the connection."

"So?" Harry asked, shrugging, "no one else can do the same. You are the only one who knows who I am, what I am, and why I'm here. And besides, I didn't leave any evidence, did I?"

"No," Hawthorne ground out his answer. "Did you at least find anything useful from this little…fiasco of yours?"

"Yeah, I got rid of one horcrux," Harry said. "I've still got five left, though." Hawthorne sighed tiredly.

"If you had gotten caught, then it wouldn't have just meant trouble with you, but me as well," the Unspeakable leader said. "I don't want to be kept out of the loop like this again."

"Yes sir," Harry said, "I promise that whenever I do something that could be misconstrued as a felony while in pursuit of my mission, I'll let you know first." After several moments, Hawthorne nodded in acceptance.

"That'll be all, Potter. Dismissed," he said as he grabbed his newspaper to read. Harry left the office to find Christine waiting for him.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Just a little discussion about yesterday," he said, "nothing to worry about."

"I wasn't worried," she said. "So, where are we going next?" As they walked out, Harry pondered his answer.

"I hear Ottery St. Catchpole is nice this time of year," he eventually responded.

"And by that, you mean…?" she prompted.

"I mean that there may be another Death Eater there," he clarified.

"Another 'hunch?'" she asked, surrounding the word "hunch" with finger quotes.

"Yep," he said, "now let's go; we've got a lot of ground to cover."

----

And that's chapter six. Hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to review.


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